‘You’ve been my wife since the day I met you. I love you, Ashleigh, and I always will, for ever and ever and ever. And even that won’t be long enough. I just love you! You’re under my skin and inside my bones!’
He spun her around and she closed her eyes, happy! For the first time that day,trulyhappy, in his arms, his words lodged in her heart. Maybe Remy was right. Why would she take a massive sledgehammer and smash up their lives? Nothing else mattered, not taking an exam when she was a little girl, not her mother offering all and sundry a Mint Imperial, not even the wrong-coloured napkins.
Nothing.
Ashleigh Fitch and Remy Hughes
2002
Aged 40
Remy
‘I can’t be late!’
Remy hollered up the stairs as she hopped with one rolled-down Ugg boot on her left foot, before steadying herself on the console table in the hallway where her car keys and the unopened mail nestled.
Midge trudged down from the landing, and yawned with that smile on his face that irked and amused her in equal measure.
‘What?’ she asked, as she shoved her mass of curly hair up into a top knot and fastened it with the favoured hairband of the month, khaki, faux velvet, with just the right amount of give, not too tight when it lived on her wrist post eight at night, when she released her mane, peeled off her socks, shrugged off her bra and undid the top button on her baggy combat trousers.
‘Nothing!’ He raised both hands in submission. He walked past her into their narrow kitchen cum dining room, and she smiled. His T-shirt strained across his wide back, the residue of his summer tan still visible on his neck below his hairline. She felt the usual flare of attraction in the base of her gut for this man of hers. Thankful that after fourteen years married, he still had this effect on her.
‘No, come on.’ She scooted into the kitchen and poured her second or third cup of coffee. It was easy to lose count when she’d been up since five, and it was now seven thirty, the start of the day for some, but for her, practically mid-morning. It seemed to be the only way to get the laundry done, kitchen floor mopped, dishwasher unstacked and all the other jobs that, uncompleted, would be other worries to add to her already busy day. ‘What was that look for, Royal?’ She sipped the dark brew that was nectar in her veins, her get-go juice that fuelled her days.
‘What look?’ he asked through a mouthful of Frosties, some of which fell back into the bowl.
‘Urgh, you eat like a toddler. Has anyone ever told you that?’
‘You tell me that every time you watch me eat cereal and hotdogs.’
‘Oh yes.’ She pulled a face of disgust. ‘I’d forgotten the hotdog thing, the licking of the sauce, the shoving of it in two bites into your mouth as if you’re scared someone might take it away from you.’
‘I can’t help it, ILovehotdogs!’ he yelled, spraying the countertop with Frostie fragments.
‘I know you’re doing it on purpose so I’m not going to rise to the bait.’
‘Me mee me mememe mme mee me ...’ He did a vague impersonation of her rhythm in a high-pitched tone. This was standard, the ribbing, the humour, the way mates did in a pub over a pint, or the girls might over a long lunch when the vino hadbeen flowing. She knew they were lucky. Good friends. It was the secret to their happy marriage. She still looked forward to seeing him when she arrived home, still shaved her legs, and popped on her silky knickers for a weekly romp with a bit of Norah Jones playing in the background. Despite the daily threat of fatigue, it was always a delightful moment of contact that bound them closer.
‘You’re not funny.’
‘I think I’m a little bit funny.’ He shovelled more cereal into his mouth. ‘And if you really want to know, thelookwas because you shout it out every morning:I can’t be late!As if by shouting it you’re going to make it happen.’
‘I think they call it manifesting.’
‘Is that right?’ he asked quizzically.
‘Yep, apparently you put what you need or desire out into the universe and it comes to you.’
‘Why has no one told me about this before? You mean there’s me grafting my biscuits off since I left school and all I had to do was shout out what I wanted and it would be delivered, by some kind of cosmic postman?’
‘Yes, that’s exactly how it works.’
‘Why are you wearing one boot?’ He stared at her left foot in its pink-and-green striped sock.
‘I can’t find the other one.’
‘Have you tried manifesting it?’
